


Can it Be You Fear To Die?

by orphan_account



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: F/M, Gen, Hunger Games AU, M/M, Modern AU, Multi, OK IT'S OK, les mis kink meme, the hunger games - Freeform, this is just
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-03-20
Updated: 2013-03-19
Packaged: 2017-12-05 21:24:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,520
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/728078
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A Hunger Games AU for Les Miserables.</p><p>"...this year is different, because Valjean receives two tributes unlike any he's ever had before - the biting and witty Grantaire, and his own daughter, the bright and beautiful Cosette. Valjean cannot bear the thought of losing his daughter, but he knows Cosette isn't made for killing. Grantaire swears to protect her with his life, but Valjean doesn't believe there's much hope... particularly considering the Careers this year. (Especially Javert's Enjolras, a fiery and loyal young man who in his interviews speaks with honor about doing his duty to the Capitol.)"</p>
            </blockquote>





	Can it Be You Fear To Die?

**Author's Note:**

> OK HELLO THERE
> 
> Here comes a big old drama filled emotional fic for you. THG AU holla. It is a fill for a prompt on the Les Mis Kink Meme 3, pg39. 
> 
> (The prompt will also serve as a background for the story itself, so I'll put it below.)
> 
> ALSO, if you are unfamiliar with THG, some terms you might need to know include the Capitol, being the 'government' or controllers/higher power. Really shitty power at that. Districts are areas in the place they rule. The Hunger Games is where 'Tributes' are 'reaped' to fight each other to the death, resulting in a Victor. IMPORTANT: These games are broadcasted everywhere under the control of the Capitol, therefore, that is how mentors (Valjean/Javert) watch. 
> 
> AND, if you're still confused, please use the good old Google machine. 
> 
> THIS WILL BE MULTI CHAPTERED ok I'll shut up

**(The prompt I filled for is below - which is also the background/explanation of the setting. READ IT.)**

_Valjean and Javert are ex-Victors, of Districts 11 and 2. Valjean detests the Games and the years of his life they and the Capitol stole from him, while Javert - though not a lover of the Games - respects the Capitol's rule._

_This year is different, because Valjean receives two tributes unlike any he's ever had before - the biting and witty Grantaire, and his own daughter, the bright and beautiful Cosette. Valjean cannot bear the thought of losing his daughter, but he knows Cosette isn't made for killing. Grantaire swears to protect her with his life, but Valjean doesn't believe there's much hope... particularly considering the Careers this year. (Especially Javert's Enjolras, a fiery and loyal young man who in his interviews speaks with honor about doing his duty to the Capitol.)_

_It becomes clear when the Games start that Enjolras hasn't quite told the truth. He wants to bring the Capitol down from inside. He forms an alliance with Grantaire, Cosette, and some of the other tributes - mostly the non-careers, but when District 1's heartthrob poster boy Marius joins them, the Capitol takes notice. It's up to our Amis to fight from the inside, and Valjean from the outside (with, too, the help of Javert, who is no longer quite so blind to the Capitol)._

_**Valjean** _

Jean Valjean watched the screen, his head tipped back as long fingers traced his stubble. The screen flashed rapidly between flurries of scenes, blurring back and forth between the faces of various young adults. It would pan out to the scenery, to the ‘big picture,’ and the Arena was once again visible.

This year’s theme was endearingly called City of Ruins; one could have guessed from the setup -- crumbling buildings, presumably once skyscrapers, peaked into the manufactured horizon. Dilapidated structures remained scattered throughout the entirety of the area, shards of glass or pieces of broken furniture providing as accessible and rather gory weapons for the Tributes. 

Ah, the Tributes; there was once twenty-four of them, but after two days passed only eighteen remained -- one of them his daughter, Cosette. And the idea of her smashing the leg of a broken chair on another human being made him want to vomit.

Valjean took a swig of the alcohol infused drink he gripped in his hand. 

He watched as the official reporter of the games rattled off stats from the previous day of bloodshed; names and pictures of The Fallen flashed on the screen, and then disappeared, proving to be a crappy honoring of the lost lives. 

In the meantime, it was morning in the capitol; the purple sunset sent a dusty haze of light into the living room of his sky rise, and the bustling of the city was not yet to be heard. 

He did not hear the soft knock on his door either, nor the footsteps that followed. 

“A little early for alcohol, isn’t it?” 

Javert’s voice surprised him, and he peeled his eyes from the screen to look at the man who had entered his flat. “Javert! It’s just past dawn!” 

“Indeed. A Victor’s life revolves not around time, Valjean, but around the Tributes themselves. Do not act so startled,” Valjean rolled his eyes. 

As if that explained as to what he was doing there so freaking early. 

But, he should have probably known by now that he would spend plentiful time with Javert, as his District and Javert’s formed an alliance before the games started. Their tributes had taken quite a large liking to one another, and henceforth they were sworn to this makeshift bond. It was not a strong bond at that; the two men were different, perched on the opposite end of the spectrum from one another.

“Has the coverage begun yet?” 

Valjean gestured to the screen on his wall, and he shook his head, “They’re doing a recap, now.” 

“Ah,” and Javert sat down, hesitant, on the other chair in the room. As he sat stiffly, with duty in his eyes, Valjean couldn’t help but to admire him. He was so intent on keeping his Tribute, – the only one he had left, given that the girl had already been killed – Enjolras, alive.

If there was one thing Valjean and Javert did share, it was the devotion to keep their Tributes. 

The newscaster on the screen mumbled something about how the tributes were starting to wake up, and Valjean and Javert both lost any sense of playfulness they had held a moment ago. 

Day three was about to begin. 

\------- 

_Enjolras_

Two hours. That was how much he had slept. 

The rest he had spent keeping watch over his newly acquired allies. Although not thrilled to take the position, he figured he was their leader, and would use the time to memorize the faces of his partners. 

There were five of his allies there, in total. Names? What were their names? He scolded himself; as the leader, he really needed to get around to memorizing who they were. He would. Right now. 

He knew the youngest one of them all, a delicate blonde with a sweet voice, as Cosette; from the same district as the man Grantaire, whom he knew as his irresponsible peer that belched in his sleep rather frequently. They were from District Eleven; a district that Enjolras had never bothered with if he wasn’t fighting for the cause he had chosen to fight for. They had started as allies from the training days, and Grantaire, attracted to Enjolras’ enthusiasm like a moth to a flame, had insisted they ally. It was, quote, of utmost importance. The poodle-haired man had also insisted that, if necessary, he would die for the cause that Enjolras had preached. 

Which led Enjolras to think of how quickly it escalated, but how it equally wouldn’t help to have a willing sacrifice. Maybe. 

Combeferre and Courfeyrac were the tributes from District Four. Enjolras, who never really was known for his sociability, seemed to somehow bond quickly with Combeferre. He met him in training as well, and shared borderline the same ideals; Enjolras fought for freedom from The Capitol, and Combeferre desired for peace. It had taken some convincing for the men to encourage Courfeyrac to join the cause as well, but on that second day, he faltered and agreed. 

Combeferre was very intelligent, providing to be a valuable asset; and Courfeyrac was not especially smart, but he was sociable and friendly, adding energy to the bundle. Surely, the radiant young man would attract sponsors. 

Lastly there was Feuilly. Hailing from District Nine, Enjolras had allied with him solely under the advice of his Mentor, Javert. He wasn’t sure what Feuilly was going to bring to the table yet, but it would be something valuable, surely. 

The tributes of the remaining districts were another story. Seven were already dead, leaving the biggest threat coming from District One. (Technically one big threat- A man called Marius Pontmercy was a tribute from that district, and according to Enjolras, he looked like flower and acted like one as well. And Enjolras was certain they would have little trouble doing some gardening.) The other man, though, called Montparnasse, was a whole different story. He, like Enjolras, had volunteered to partake in the games. He was a cunning, cold-blooded killer who had already taken out three of the competition, purely bloodthirsty and nothing else. 

Now, Enjolras did volunteer as well. But for an entirely different cause. His plan to take down the tyrannous Capitol government could only be accomplished from the inside, and so, inside he was with no way out.

All of six of him, the coterie of silent Revolutionaries, decided to seek out shelter in an abandoned building in the corner of the arena. A half-destroyed title hung dangerously unsteady from the top of the hideout; Musain. Grantaire attempted to cover the windows with chairs and stacks of shrapnel, but Enjolras could not stand the sight of such an unkempt and half-hearted attempt to keep them shielded. Therefore, he had redone it. 

“I said wake up!” Enjolras’ voice was a hushed whisper that he repeated to the bundle of bodies that slept in the corner; Cosette had stirred earlier, so she sat up, rubbing tired eyes. 

The motley crew huddled together that night for the sake of heat sharing, and had remained that way until morning, give or take a few rotations of the person stationed for watch. 

Enjolras watched as all of them began to fumble around in quite the sleepless stupor. He clucked his tongue in impatience. He did not take pleasure in being rude, but time was something that, in this game, they could never have enough of. Every second was of value, and this was something they had to understand. 

So, he just began to talk. 

“Today’s doing recon. We’re supposed to find another ally; there’s one called Joly, from District Two,” Enjolras spoke purely from memory, with the voice of someone who had slept far more then two hours. “He knows First Aid” and, he said to himself, the Capitol killed his father and therefore it would be easy to persuade him. “It shouldn’t take too much convincing to get him on our side. As far as I can tell, him and his fellow fled to the East end of the arena.”

Combeferre was the first one alert enough to reply. 

“They did; Courfeyrac witnessed them bolt a second after the Games had begun.” 

“I see,” Enjolras nodded with gratitude to Combeferre, storing the information somewhere in the back of his mind. “Other than that, we are to find food today – this base we have found is rather valuable, but it can only be so valuable if there’s no food to keep us alive.” He straightened his red jacket, surveying the crowd. 

Grantaire was still on the floor, and Cosette was yawning repeatedly. 

They were off to a good start. 

“Grantaire, Feuilly, and Courfeyrac, you are to find food in the bushels along the edge of the north end of the city,” The Musain was located in the northeast, far from the center of the gore and violence – the wreckage of city hall that was located far south. “Combeferre and I are to find Joly.” The men were nodding, but Grantaire scowled. 

“Three men to pick freaking berries? You’re not serious.”

Enjolras kept his composure, but spoke in a voice that remained somewhat firm. “I am serious. When said berries could be the difference between starvation and energy happen to be located near the hideout of the pair of District Twelve tributes, the more men, the better. Thank you for your input.” 

That seemed to shut the cynic up momentarily.

A small voice interrupted his thoughts, sprouting from behind him, and he turned to see a worried Cosette, who twirled a piece of blonde hair in her hands. “And I?” 

His face fell. He did feel sympathy for the poor girl; she was so out of her element that it was tragically humorous. 

Combeferre saved the silence when he spoke to the girl. “How about I stay here, with you? We will search for weapons in the surrounding buildings,” he looked at Enjolras, nodding. “I’m sure Enjolras is more than capable to retrieve a shuddering medical student on his own.” 

Enjolras nodded in approval.

“Everyone knows the policy,” he was speaking again, directing his voice to Grantaire who still looked half asleep and scoffing. “We do not kill unless we have to. However, do keep a keen eye for the tributes from One and Ten.”

“From One?” Cosette spoke again, perking up, “That Marius? Do you think we’ll run into him?” 

Enjolras forced himself to ignore the hopeful twinkling in her eye and he shook his head, “I doubt it. Whilst surveying the land yesterday, I spotted them rather close to City Hall, far from us. I’m guessing they’ll use the strategy of killing off the weaklings first; save any threats for last.” 

“Oh,” her face fell considerably, and she went back to braiding her hair. “Alright.” 

Enjolras sighed in affirmation, and he took strides to move to an artfully placed peephole in one of the barricaded windows. There was no sign of movement nearby, other than the artificially rising sun. The Capitol had manufactured their entire environment- from the weather to the walls- and Enjolras was no stranger to that. With the flick of a button, all of them could be enveloped in a pool of acid rain or attacked by a pack of genetically engineered wild animals. 

It was impossible to prepare for the unknown.

“Hey,” a sharp, deep call of attention came from the other corner of the room, so Enjolras turned. Grantaire was up, leaning on the wall for support. His shirt was crumpled, and his hair was sticking in all directions from the movement of sleep. 

“You bellowed?” Enjolras was unenthusiastic. 

“You know what we need? A name,” Grantaire said, and his words were accusatory and cynical. “Some sweet, peppy little name for our band of Brotherhood. Plus Cosette.” 

Enjolras rolled his eyes, but the others seemed a bit enthused. 

“How about The Brotherhood, then?” Courfeyrac offered with a grin. 

It was Combeferre who replied between laughs, “We’re not a damn fraternity,” and slapped his friend on the back. 

Cosette scowled. “Hello? I do exist, you know.” 

“I’ve got a good one,” it was Grantaire’s voice that sliced into the room that was now bustling with potential labels. It quieted, and gazes were directed at him… including Enjolras. “How about, ‘The Goners’? Get it? Because we’re all going to die.” 

He said the end of the sentence to flatly, his tone so dismal, that it stopped the business of the room. Cosette looked down. Courfeyrac and Combeferre exchanged uncomfortable glances, and Enjolras glared back at the cynic. 

Their glares met, and both men held their gaze. Enjolras, if he could, would have yelled at the man right there. Would have told him that, if he was going to be so cynical, so dismissive, that he could leave right then and there. That he had no right to dwindle in their group of revolutionaries. That he could go be a victor and live in the Capitol for all he cared. 

But he didn’t.

“Let’s carry out this discussion another time, while we’re not focused on trying to survive, shall we?” 

\---

_Grantaire_

He kicked a rock with his boot, and it skittered a few feet away, clanking along the ground that paved the fantastically destroyed cityscape. Feuilly shushed him. 

“What? I’m not allowed to be my crass, negative self, and now I’m not allowed to touch rocks? What am I allowed to do?” 

No one replied. 

The three men were inching along the outskirts of the ‘city,’ where pebbles and rocks grew into mounds of dirt that eventually met the broken buildings. The Capitol, being so ingeniously cruel, designed the area in a way that went from the large, constructed ‘ruined city’ to an outskirt of nothing but rubble. Two patches of faux-forest were strategically placed on either ends of the square shaped city. 

Or, at least they thought it was a square. The surrounding outskirts of rubble appeared to go on forever. 

And Grantaire thought, as he walked, how clever they had been to put the sources of food and forestry on either ends. With only two supplies, it was inevitable that Tributes would meet and battle over resources. Funny, Capitol. Really funny. 

We see what you did there. He kicked another rock. There was no way they were ever going to-

Grantaire stopped kicking pebbles when Feuilly kicked him in the shin. 

“Do we know where we’re going?” he said after awhile, and Courfeyrac gave him a harsh look. 

“We’re trying to be quiet. There may be other Tributes around this resource, therefore, we are attempting to reach the resource with little conflict, and your constant snickering is making that quite difficult.”

“We’re avoiding other Tributes now? Is the goal of this game not to kill everyone?”

Courfeyrac rolled his eyes. 

“An alliance is an alliance for a reason, dear Grantaire. We’re not nearly strong enough to be able to defend ourselves if any other tributes were to find out where our place of refuge is and attack it. Enjolras is sure that once we know what we’re doing, we’ll figure it out…” he lowered his voice. “If only we had some ladies to properly enjoy our stay…” 

“So, while everyone is out there killing each other, we’re having freaking tea parties and playing count-the-weapons holed up in the Musain?”

Courfeyrac didn’t reply, and Grantaire- once again- scoffed. 

Here’s the thing, though. As he followed them, walking on the rocks as if they were eggshells and scraping his arms along the buildings, his thoughts were elsewhere. 

His thoughts were on Enjolras’ face. 

Crap. 

It wasn’t his fault the man looked like a God, or seemed to know everything about everything, or spoke with words that were so powerful and angelic that he could have said the opposite of the present truth and it would have made sense. 

Crap. 

He just remembered listening to Enjolras talk during the Tribute Interviews, watching the passion in his eyes ignite as he talked about honor. The way he had tapped his fingers on the edge of the plush chair when he was busy thinking of an answer. The way he spoke so kindly and gentlemanly to Cosette when they spoke for the first time, at a dinner event for the tributes…

He cut himself by pinching himself in the arm. 

He didn’t know what he was saying.

It was nonsense. Sheer thoughts sprouted from nothing but cabin fever…

He sighed, running a hand through his hair, where underneath his mind was reeling. “I need a drink.” His words were so low that they went unnoticed by his comrades, who continued to march forward with silent determination. 

“We’re here,” Courfeyrac said after a long while of silent walking. “Grantaire, you get your berries. I’ll see what I can find as protein goes, and Feuilly, check out the plants. I guess. Hell, I need Enjolras. He seemed to know what he was doing.” 

Grantaire marched away stubbornly, refusing to spend any more time thinking about the Leader than he already was. 

“Grantaire!” Courfeyrac called out quietly, “Stay nearby!” 

“Whatever.”

He walked in the direction of the trees, where they met the barren rocks in an artificially straight line. The Capitol was certainly vicious in design. They usually chose circle areas, where the tributes would drive themselves mad as they tried to walk in ovals… while this square contraption was a whole new experience for him. It was odd, the way they provided such scare resources at such obscene location. Vicious, torturous, and unnecessary. 

But Grantaire could just imagine what it was doing to the view counts at home. 

He ducked under a tree, watching the ground for small berry bushes of any sort. He didn’t know what he was looking for. Berries were what, pink? Purple? Some odd color that would surely stick out against the green or dead-brown color of the leafy forest floor. 

When he finally found what looked like a berry bush, he bent to grip it in his large, callused hand. Grantaire was strong. That was a talent both he and the capitol knew he had, and he couldn’t wait (sarcasm) to see how they would put that to the test. Everyone knew that the Capitol picked out strengths, picked out weaknesses, and as the game progressed would weed out the contestants with cruel challenges derived from how the Capitol knew them best. 

It would make him sick, if he even cared anymore.

The snap of a branch caught his attention, and it certainly didn’t come from him. His ears perked, as he looked around slowly, carefully, wary of the noise of any breath he took. 

He heard something; that was for sure. 

He heard someone’s breathing that wasn’t his own. 

“Courfeyrac?” he said quietly, suspicion on the edge of his voice. He couldn’t remember the other guy’s name. “Hello?” 

And as he glanced around with careful eyes, he saw a color poke out against the green of the brush- but it wasn’t a berry. 

It was a shoe, connected to a leg of someone… someone trying to hide. 

His heart skipped a beat. Some sort of adrenaline must have flown through his veins, because he moved towards the hidden figure, watching the foot twitch quite noticeably. And, with one swift motion, he yanked back the leaves that hung to cover the person, shouting, “Who the hell are you?!” and ready to attack. His fist was over his head, ready to throw a punch…

But the person under the bush was a small girl. She recoiled, covering her face with her hands.

“P-Please don’t!”

His tone remained strong and threatening. These people want to kill you, Grantaire. “Who are you?!” 

“I’m…” she sounded like she was near tears, and her voice broke, “Eponine!”

**Author's Note:**

> YEAH SO IF YOU HATED IT I'M SORRY, because honestly my confidence level with this was not very high. BUT, some things to point out next:  
> 1\. This is not going to be told solely from E/R perspective. Other ships/perspectives will be prominent in later chapters.  
> 2\. SORRY FOR ALL THE DESCRIPTION AND LITTLE ACTION. I promise it will get exciting.  
> 3\. Wheee okay so I thrive off of feedback and do appreciate constructive criticism, but if you're gonna be super cynical (past the Grantaire point of cynical)........................... I get discouraged.  
> 4\. YES there will be bad guys who you think are good but then aren't and AHHHHHHH
> 
> ANYWAY  
> If you did enjoy this, I will update in the next few days... (tomorrow if I'm feeling really encouraged). And, if you'd like to, let me know what you wanna see!


End file.
